


Infirmum

by gothmcty



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Emetophobia, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sickfic, Whump, especially as he's letting his guard down for once around a literal mf killer without realizing it, food/eating mentioned, i just love exaggerating will's initial innocence, loudly implied cannibalism, they're both pretty dumb though bless them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25562131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothmcty/pseuds/gothmcty
Summary: Will accepts Dr. Lecter's gracious invitation to attend one of his dinner parties. He just regrets not having the stomach for this sort of thing.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Infirmum

**Author's Note:**

> events here take place early on in season one, AKA when hannibal is a whore to will and will is a clueless puppy pre-dark transformation !! how funky fresh is that !!

Will hated parties enough as it was already, and that was without a serial killer complicating matters.

More specifically, he hated _this_ party. The incessant chattering of the dinner guests, all elegantly dressed and stuffed together into their little cliquish packs. God. They were suffocating him. He found himself steadily drowning deeper and deeper into their overly boisterous laughs and equally annoying shrill comments. The people around him had only two things in common as he studied the freakishly similar smiles marring all of their painted faces. They were simple, and they were idiots.

Not one of them cared for the danger they were in, he thought bitterly, skulking back against the mantle as if the fire inside could offer him any sort of warmth. He supposed rich socialites assumed little fear in the face of real harm. They all knew, of course. About him. Who he was. Will’s heart thumped against his ribs as if it knew, too. The local blogs had certainly done little to hide their interest in his latest case as well as their interest in the intriguing face of a certain enigmatic criminal profiler. Will shivered uncomfortably as the flames crackled behind him. He forced himself to stay calm. The eyes grazing across him every few seconds were just meaningless distractions. He had to remind himself that he was normal. Nothing anyone else said could change that.

The fact still remained that, unbeknownst to Will, Dr. Lecter wasn’t just anyone else.

Their particularly gracious host in question stood right at the center of attention in his sweepingly large living room, easily the tallest and most impressive man of the hour. Will’s eyes couldn’t help but flit back over to examine his figure every so often, noting the high lines of his cheekbones that seemed to hide his dark eyes from view, or the prominent veins in his nimble hands that so easily moved with him when he spoke. The man’s confidence practically bled out of him from head to toe in each crimson line of his three-piece suit.

As if on cue, the doctor tilted his head ever so slightly in Will’s direction. He smiled, nodding politely. Will froze in wordless response, turning the corners of his mouth up imperceptibly. Hands trembling, his eyes shot back down as he busied himself with the task of taking a sip of his sickeningly sweet wine, giving himself something to do to distract from that deep, unsettling gaze that had met his.

Will hated eye contact. Everyone who knew him respected that little quirk of his, and yet, Dr. Lecter seemed the one exception to that rule. Already. He had an annoying habit of staring at him, he’d noticed, as if he were hoping that one of these days Will would stare defiantly back into those dark pupils. Even when Jack wasn’t around to demand that Will see Hannibal to _'help talk through his problems,'_ Lecter still appeared to be appraising him at every given opportunity. Once or twice Will had gotten the uncomfortable impression that the man had some sort of hungry look in his eye, as if he found that the empath’s hidden pain deeply satisfied his appetite.

That thought alone chilled Will to his very core. He liked the doctor well enough. Why, then, should these displays of professional interest frighten him? Truthfully, Will feared the personal side of things. The last thing he needed was someone as esteemed and eerily unreadable as Dr. Lecter viewing him as yet another basket case in need of some serious medication.

 _‘More like sedation,’_ he thought humorlessly.

Will’s fingers habitually toyed with the scratching fabric of his tie. Normally, he wouldn’t have felt bothered by the presence of buttons pressed against his neck, being used to his typical flannel shirts, but something about the tightness of the dress wear was beginning to set him on edge. Something about the situation felt off.

Everything did.

It was as if some shadowy animal were stalking him, even now, in a closed room surrounded by all these people.

Meanwhile, Will could feel Jack eyeing him from a few feet away, as if trying to decipher his mood. Alana Bloom stood with him, having apparently spotted Will and, as if she had the same idea as Jack, had started coming towards him with two fresh glasses of wine in her hands. The fact that the two had been talking in hushed tones and had broken off when he made eye contact was enough to set Will's teeth on edge.

His heart leapt in his throat as that incessant, familiar ache in his body was replaced with a ferocious burning sensation, sending pins and needles all across his torso and down through his arms and fingers. His hand shook dangerously once more, prompting him to place his own glass down on the mantle.

 _‘Not now, please,’_ Will begged, mentally willing Alana to leave him alone. He couldn’t stand the thought of his coworkers seeing him at his most vulnerable like this, especially in such a socially-charged atmosphere. Despite his better judgement, he found himself watching Alana approach while an icy fear took over to hold him in place. His mind began working furiously against him.

His latest case seemed to have formed this nasty habit of sticking in the back of his mind and his throat at all times, so that even now, his thoughts sought out some unknown face in the crowd. Will was tired, so tired of it, searching subconsciously for someone who might fit the profile he’d been so desperately attempting to form. Alana didn’t fit, he thought wildly, fixating on her warm smile and soft expression. Neither did Jack, standing behind her stony-faced, as if he knew the caged look in Will’s eyes would soon come to a head.

Will dug his fingernails into his palm, wincing slightly at the pain it brought, yet thankful for the grounding feeling it gave him. Tiny droplets of red had formed in each crescent-shaped dent left in his soft skin. Bringing his hand up to his face sent another jolt of fear across his heart, the sight of his own blood being more than enough to push his panic over the edge.

He felt like a deer in headlights. Suddenly the eyes of his concerned friends had turned accusatory, terrifyingly so, pointing him out in the crowd. 

That was it.

How had he forgotten? The killer he was looking for was _himself._

He did it.

That was why his hand stung, why there was blood on it. Why he felt so wrong in the moment, shaking from head to toe, miles away from everyone else in the room in every way. The gruesome, artful, disgustingly beautiful murders and all those missing organs were his design all along.

_‘I’m the one eating them.’_

Will gagged, a violent choking sound ripping out of his throat. The few sips of alcohol he’d had that night sloshed like fiery acid against his intestines, causing him to double over in pain, clutching his stomach with an audible groan. Surely it was only a matter of time before the scene he was making caught the eyes of the guests around him, drawing their attention so suddenly there’d be no doubt as to who the Chesapeake Ripper truly was. Dr. Lecter’s smile swam to the front of Will’s fevered brain before it morphed into an expression of pure disgust before his very eyes. They all would hate him when they realized the truth.

He became dimly aware of Alana standing over him now, her face swimming in and out of focus as her mouth moved inaudibly. Her hand was on his shoulder, and it burned. Jack was there now, too, barely concealed concern etched across every line of his face.

“If you’ll excuse me—“ Will stammered, hand over his mouth as he stumbled away. He wasn’t even sure he had actually gotten the words out.

He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

 _‘I can’t do this,’_ he thought savagely to himself, ignoring the disgruntled remarks of those he ran into along the way. _‘I have to get out of here. They'll know, they'll find out...'_

His slowly growing sense of dread bit at him from every corner of the room now, ensnaring every sense in its sickeningly hot grip. His dress shirt clung to each pounding vein in his neck, creating the suffocating feeling of hands slowly choking him. He gasped raggedly, tugging at the fabric against his skin in hope of some relief. He was going to be sick. He would pass out. He would make a fool of himself in front of all of these well-mannered people, proving how much of an unstable psychopath he was.

The worst part was that he didn’t even give a damn about them. They certainly gave no care for him, so why should he bother? Not a single eye turned his way for more than a second as he pushed his way through. Surely they were whispering about him behind his back, even now.

The sickly sweet smells of Dr. Lecter's usual delicious cooking only served to aggravate Will’s anxiety further. The thought of eating while a cannibal ran loose made him want to vomit.

While _he_ ran loose. Who could stop him from killing again, from sinking his teeth into one of these people around him? 

Will made it to the kitchen door and slammed it open before he finally broke, his knees banging against the cool tiled floor. With a rush of horror, he realized the smell of food surrounded him even more intensely now—hot, bloody meat, cloying, savory scents that made his stomach turn ominously—

He heaved. 

A splattering sound echoed across the pristine floor as Will choked up pure bile, hands splayed across his mouth to prevent the stream of sick. He sputtered, unable to prevent nearly all of it falling from the spaces in between his fingers as he shook with pure adrenaline and fear.

Something touched Will’s shoulder. An instinctual whimper escaped him as he thrashed away. The something hadn't felt hostile, but his sensations were confused. He was all tangles of burning nerves with no perception of reality, and it was all too overwhelming.

He gagged a second time, then a third, the last bringing with it nothing but dry, burning coughs that threatened to choke the remaining air from his lungs. Another something was touching Will’s other shoulder now. It took him a solid sixty seconds to recognize the feeling as a hand. Strong, but gentle. Precise in the way it traced his tensed muscle there.

“I need you to breathe for me,” a voice was murmuring behind him, breath tickling Will's ear, the sound sending shivers down the nape of his damp neck.

“Can you do that, Will?” Hannibal repeated.

Will nodded rapidly in mute embarrassment. His walls were crumbling in front of the most composed man he’d ever met. He forced himself to inhale a great gasp of air.

Suddenly, he shook his head urgently. His eyes met Hannibal’s in one last warning the doctor recognized too well. The deer had finally sprinted free of the headlights, unaware it was now headed off a cliff.

“I _killed_ them,” Will choked out. "They... I... I ate—"

He retched, a strangled sound rising from deep within his chest as his eyes watered. It took him several more moments to realize he was crying, lights tears welling up in his shining eyes, tracing their way down his flushed face. He wrenched his entire body away from his uninvited companion. The last thing he needed was to look up and see pity in the face waiting there.

Hannibal smiled.

Will could only gape back at him in surprise. His throat burned, he was crying, practically panting, and his suit was absolutely ruined with sick. He had just admitted to his crimes, and yet, Dr. Lecter was... smiling. Will was slowly convincing himself that tonight was truly a figment of his imagination.

“Your name is Will Graham," Hannibal interrupted softly. "The time is 8 P.M. We are at my home in Baltimore, Maryland. And you are not a killer.”

Will's heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was certain the guests outside the kitchen could hear it. He had the chilling suspicion the doctor had easily read into his current dissociative state of mind without he himself saying a word.

“You haven’t killed anyone,” He continued, a hint of soothing calm in his tone. “Not yet, anyway.” He smiled at the joke. Will chuckled darkly despite himself. His breathing had started to slow. He was fine. That was it. There was something so frustratingly calming in everything Hannibal did, even outside of his therapy sessions. Of _course_ Will hadn’t killed anyone. His mind was simply projecting again, convincing him of truths that weren’t real.

"I just..." Will trailed off, thoroughly unsure of how to explain his attack.

"I'm sorry about your floor. That's pretty unsanitary of me." He gestured towards the mess, face burning with embarrassment.

This time, Hannibal chuckled. Will found a small, easy smile slipping onto his face. That had to have been the first time he managed a smile the entire night.

"Lucky for me, the table is already being set."

Hannibal moved suddenly. He stooped down to Will's level, looking at him more seriously than before. Will couldn't help but let his eyes focus on a spot just below Hannibal's own eyes.

"I'd offer to take you home," Hannibal continued, gently reaching out to straighten Will's crooked tie, which seemed a bit unnecessary given the situation. "But I daresay you could use the food." As if on cue, Will’s stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. The corners of Hannibal’s mouth quirked up.

“When was the last time you ate, Will?” Hannibal asked. This time, Will didn't push away when Hannibal's fingertips brushed lightly against the base of his neck at the tie.

_'How can I eat while there’s some… someone out there, eating...'_

_'It's all my fault. I'm supposed to be the one to catch them and—'_

His stomach turned over uncomfortably at the thought. Immediately, another wave of nausea washed over him, almost directly in spite of his hunger. How could his body betray him with some incessant need to eat at a time like this? One trembling hand flew up to his mouth as a disgustingly familiar sensation tickled the back of his throat.

What he refused to tell the doctor was that he had been unable to keep anything down as of late. As soon as nighttime came around, he’d awake from his nightmares, sweating, feverish, and immediately slumping over to vomit over the edge of the bed.

You didn’t see what Will saw—didn’t think the _things_ he thought—without it making you sick to your stomach. Someone like Dr. Lecter couldn’t possibly understand that.

Will shrugged in lieu of an actual answer. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten either way.

Hannibal rose first, extending a hand. Will grasped it weakly, pulling himself to his feet. The full shame of being violently sick in his therapist's home, with someone he barely knew, made him feel disgustingly childlike.

“Come. I'll find you some fresh clothes. You can sit next to me at the table, should your urge to kill anyone manifest itself.” Hannibal smiled again, seemingly warmer than earlier in the evening.

Will sheepishly followed behind him. The kitchen swayed only slightly this time. Surely that was a sign he was already feeling better, right?

"Where are my manners?" Hannibal paused in the doorway, turning back to raise an inquiring eyebrow at him. Will stopped abruptly, nearly slamming into his taller, broader frame. Hannibal grasped his arm and swiftly steadied him. This close to his face, Will noted just how dark Hannibal's pupils appeared up close. He truly did have the appearance of some impressive demonic character turned human.

"I do hope you aren't vegetarian?"

**Author's Note:**

> i definitely have too many ideas to continue this one, but hopefully i did a decent job of introducing their characterization here. i want to add more potential interactions between abigail and will, and also speed up the, uh, *cough* romantic *cough* hannigram tension because they're idiots (and will took three seasons to realize what was happening anyway smh)
> 
> hope you enjoyed so far! (: <3


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